


Of Days Gone By

by thousandmonkeys



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Birthday Fics Are Supposed To Be Happy, Ends up as Ouryuu Tears, F/M, Sadly Nope., Spoilers for Chapter 101 onwards., Starts off as Kaya/Zeno fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thousandmonkeys/pseuds/thousandmonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ouryuu Zeno had a wife, once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Days Gone By

“Kaya! I bought a jar of kaya—let’s eat it together, alright?”

Holding said jar up in the air, smile stretching wide in triumph, Zeno sashayed—that was the word for it, _sashayed_ —into the clearing. The exertion of climbing up the mountain didn’t show on Zeno’s face much, only making itself known through the slightly flushed cheeks. 

“Zeno! You’re back.” Her smile, though as tender as it had always been, didn’t seem half as bright as it was the day before. Still, she didn’t look as sickly as that first day he’d met her; though, Kaya said that was a particularly bad day. He would take the small victories any day.

The medicine was working, then.

“Mm, I am,” he said, nodding at her words, as per his habit. “Are you hungry?”

“ _Starving_ ,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Or, at least, I would say that if a little somebody didn’t keep finding loaves of bread and dead rabbits mysteriously on our front door.”

The blonde laughed sheepishly, at that. “What do you mean mysterious? It could be a nice, charitable, mountain hermit, here to give presents to his idol.”

“I think mountain hermits are celibate.” She took the jar from him anyway, offering another smile; a gracious one, this time. Zeno never failed to marvel at how many ways Kaya could manage the same gesture. It was a mystery on par with Abi’s hairstyle, probably.

“Are they? I didn’t get the notice, then.”

“You’re not a hermit, though! How far did you have to go to find it?”

“Eh, not very.”

It had only been two days or so, if he remembered correctly. The Ouryuu may not be as miraculously fast as the Ryokuryuu, but he could cover a fair amount of ground if he put his mind to it. The plains of the Earth tribe wasn’t particularly bad; it was only the Hakuryuu village which Zeno took care to sidestep around. He didn’t want to see Guen’s successor once again; the pain of being deserted was still too fresh, even a season on.

“Liar!” Kaya bopped him softly on the head, pouting. “Your feet are _filthy_. You’ve been walking for ages, haven’t you?”

“Maybe, maybe. But I heard the kaya was delicious, so I thought I should get some for you to try.”

This time, it was Kaya’s turn for a blush to suffuse her cheeks, and she turned away to hide it. “Th—thank you. Should we go put it on bread, then?”

“Yes, let’s!”

* * *

On the subject of medicine, Zeno was conflicted.

He could steal it, really; that had been par for course for Ouryuu Zeno on his travels, a waif with no ties nor living regrets. And nobody would miss the ingredients that Zeno was looking for; they were run of the mill ingredients, after all. Still, that would cause trouble for Kaya, wouldn’t it? Blonde hair was hardly the commonest shade in Kouka, and somebody was sure to connect the dots with the new labourer taking care of the sickly girl of the woods, and the thief—if he was caught, and word was spread, that is.

There wouldn’t be any outcry if the village was destroyed, of course, not when the lowlands had their own problems to worry about; a tempting notion. Succession struggles in the wake of Hiryuu’s death _still_ raged on, and he was starting to think that it would never end.

This was precisely why the Yellow Dragon shouldn’t have chosen Zeno as its host. Zeno found everything just so much more interesting when it was _fun_.

Shaking his head, Zeno dismissed the dark thoughts from his mind. He’d been ~~cursed~~ blessed by the Ouryuu, and he should work to earn his share. Maybe if he kept at it long enough, the Dragon God would be kind enough to give him back Hiryuu, Abi, Shuten, Guen.

He tried his best to ignore the fact that Kaya’s name might be added to it, soon.

Gathering up the meager coins in his pockets, he headed towards the apothecary, whistling an off-key tune. Singing had never been his strong point, but it made the impression of an idiot bum all the stronger. Which made him all the more forgettable.

“Uncle!” The shopkeeper peered through thick lenses at the call; although withered in countenance, he was definitely younger than Zeno himself, and the irony was not lost on the Ouryuu. Which placed a smile firmly on his face. “I’m here again today.”

“Lemon, ginger, willow bark. Yes. They’re in the back, pay up.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“What’s wrong, Zeno?” Kaya reached up, resting a well-weathered palm on the back of Zeno’s own, the lines creasing the edges of her edges more so than normal. “Ah, my hair—?” her voice trailed off questioningly, leaving the statement incomplete.

Zeno was playing the role of hairdresser, neatening up the ends of Kaya’s hair, back into that bob she’s sported when they’d met. Flowers looked best in her hair when it was well cared for, after all, and even in the grip of her illness, the blonde wouldn’t let it become disheveled. He took pride in his role, really. Zeno hadn’t dared to give himself a haircut, so far—what if it didn’t grow back? He would go through the rest of his immortal life _bald_ , dragon gods forbid!—but he’d learned enough when trimming Hiryuu’s crimsom locks, back when they were on campaigns.

He’d once rode under the banner to unify a divided Kouka; now he was here, trying to rectify divided ends. Split ends.

Right. The metaphor didn’t work; and his foolish attempt at being poetic made him smile. “It’s nothing, nothing,” sang Zeno in an attempt to distract Kaya, and set down the hairdressing blade with a flourish. “Ta—da! Done!”

There was no mirror in the shack; and Kaya, trusting Zeno implicitly, beamed, the expression lighting up her face and smoothing over the wrinkles born of worry. “Is it nice?”

“Perfect!” Zeno said, sincere as he always was. The relief in his eyes was mistaken by Kaya as pride, and she hummed to herself, once again returning her attention to repairing the lone sock she held loosely, its twin lost in some drawer, somewhere. Darned more times than she could count, the fabric seemed oddly lumpy.

Kaya didn’t seem to notice that, with the illness, her hair no longer had the lustre nor the thickness it once had, back when he’d first met her. Zeno had woven flower crowns to cover it, and she seemed suitably distracted by the sewing and the gifts that no thoughts worried her.

Better not to linger on the subject of hair, then.

“More importantly, Kaya, I think I’m strong enough to lift you, now,” he said, and, deftly plucking her sewing needle from her grasp, he tried his very best to lift his companion.

Zeno couldn’t suppress the wave of relief when she was still too heavy for him to carry. Stick thin arms, Shuten had said, teasing him in that way of his. Stick thin arms that couldn’t fight for Kouka, or conquer dissidents.

Now, they were a measuring stick of her health, and Zeno was glad that he’d been found wanting.

She giggled, at the gesture, and squirmed out of his grasp. “You should save that for a princess, or something, Zeno. ”

“What if you’re my princess, then? Princess Kaya has a very, _very_ nice ring to it.”

Cheeks flushing rapidly, she averted her gaze. “That’s not possible, Zeno. Stop making fun of me, it isn’t nice.”

"But it's true!"

* * *

He’d found a name for it, the nameless hydra which curled its way around Kaya’s chest, constricting her lungs and fouling the alveoli: tuberculosis.

Common enough in the halfway house between the Fire and Earth tribes; rural areas were never high on the priority list; it hadn’t been so in Hiryuu’s time, though the King had strained to rectify it, and it would continue to be so under the already pressured Earth tribe’s ministrations.

Simple peasant girl as she was, Kaya had caught it when tending to a stranger, left by the roadside. Her whole family had caught it, and now she was the only one remaining.

Her, and Zeno. Zeno wouldn’t leave her alone, this time. And it was fine, just fine, if she couldn’t do the same. She was just a human, after all.

If it had been any other assailant, Zeno would have become a shield for her, much the same way he had done so for Hiryuu; after all, if Hiryuu was the blinding sun that Zeno had basked under, then Kaya was his moon, gently warming his path.

It was silly, though. He’d thought, fancied, that if he found out the name of what plagued the mayfly of a girl, he could vanquish the illness, once and for all.

He should’ve learned by now not to put stock into miracles.

* * *

“They’re sharp,” she murmured, and her eyes brightened with mischief. Against the gauntness of her cheeks, it seemed to burn with the intensity of the Sun’s glare. “Are they sharp enough to cut through a steak?” 

“If you’re realizing that _now_ , of all times, then that’s kind of late, isn’t it?” he said, lips curving up in a toothy smile.

“Smile more, silly!” She clapped delightedly at that, still fascinated by Zeno’s teeth. The blonde was rather certain that such fascinations stemmed from myths of dashing young bloodsuckers, though. Probably turned into small furry animals, and such things.

“I am, I am.”

“No, you have to smile _normally_. Sin—” Her vigorous admonishment was interrupted by a fit of coughing. “Sincerely,” she finally managed.

“I _am_ ,” he said, and in a gesture of supreme juvenility, he stuck his tongue out at her. “See, I’m smiling.”

“No you _aren’t_.”

And just like that, a tickle war was _on_. For somebody dying from a severe respiratory illness, and strived to get enough air on the best of days, Kaya sure was _good_ at tickling others; looks like Zeno’s title as reigning tickle master of the Four Dragons was at stake. That is, if you discount the fact that the other 75% didn’t care for tickle wars.

“Surrender!”

“Never!” he declared.

“ _Surrender_!”

“You gotta—” A repressed snicker interrupted his faked ‘serious’ face, bubbling up. “You gotta drag it outta me! Like a wild horse, or something like that. I haven’t seen a wild horse, before, but—”

“Is that a challenge?”

Kaya tackled him to the ground, as far as her sickly constitution could allow, trying once again to emerge victorious.They collapsed in a panting heap, Kaya more so than Zeno. At this point, their well-worn clothes were filthy from the ground, flecks of soil clinging to the once-clean cloth, but Zeno didn’t mind.

“Alright, you win, Kaya,” he wheezed.

“Ze—” Coughing, whatever she had meant to say was smothered by her desperate attempts to get air around the mucus that clogged her lungs. Curling up into a ball, the sounds were harsh, replacing the earlier bubbling laughter with something painfully coarse.

Zeno was up in an instant, bustling around to brew the medicine, carrying out movements with clockwork precision. He’d once been a priest of sorts, after all, and though he’d been a piss-poor one, the rituals had needed a certain level of accuracy.

Soon, the aroma of oranges and lemons filled the shack, replacing the ever-lingering smell of illness for a brief moment. All the flowers Zeno gathered didn’t so much to remedy it.

Holding the cup to her lips, and tilting it, he helped Kaya drink the mixture. His eyes glinted with something inscrutable, something too old for his youthful appearance. As she drank, the coughing tapered off into nothingness, gone as if it had never been. The tea didn’t do very much to cure it, but it alleviated the symptoms, and if Zeno had to do hours and hours more of hard labour to earn it, then it was still well worth it.

“Thank you, Zeno,” she said simply.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his smile never fading.

“I do!” She pushed herself off the ground with considerable effort, and clasped his hands in hers. The remainder of the citron tea spilled on her clothes, but she paid it no mind. “Happy birthday, Zeno. I’m glad I got to be with you, this far.”

“You need to stop saying things like that,” he said, shaking his head. His blonde hair trailed across her hand, and she giggled, brushing it away. Zeno smiled, too, at that. “One of these days, I’m going to have to take you seriously—and what then? "

“And then, on that one day, you’ll be able to pick me up,” she said, huffing in mock exasperation. It’s all in jest, of course. Kaya would never be genuinely mad at Zeno, her steady patience a blessing he ill deserved.

“Well, that’s a long way away, isn’t it?"

“Maybe—”

“It will be, believe me.” He could no longer hear the voice of the gods, nor see the future, but that was quite alright, if it could reassure Kaya.

Eyes brightening once again, she prodded the side of his lips. “Hey, why _do_ you have sharp teeth, anyway? Surely you didn’t do that to yourself? Wouldn’t it hurt?”

“I’m the Ouryuu,” he replied, without missing a beat. “I’m a monster in human form, sent to kidnap innocent Kayas away.”

“That’s just silly,” she said, pouting, “King Hiryuu died a century ago, Zeno. If you’re the Ouryuu, you would be a crusty old man. Kaya doesn't like crusty old men, they look like the village mayor.”

She didn’t believe him, then, and maybe that was the best help for it. “Then why do I have sharp teeth then, hmm?” he asked, humouring her.

“Because you want to save money on knives, and you like to eat steak,” she declared, with all the gravity that only one with supreme confidence in their place in the world could carry.

“Maybe that’s the case, then.”

* * *

Their marriage night was a tangle of limbs and blankets; nothing different from everything that’s gone on so far. Out here in the deep mountains, it was more than common to sleep together to share warmth. After all, when the choice was between a pile of hay—scratchy, itchy bedding—or a nice, soft, warm body, many would choose the latter, and throw propriety to the winds.

There’s no sex; Zeno didn’t want to strain Kaya that far, not when the scent of death has grown stronger than ever, and the Ouryuu within him was howling out, its voice a screech rivaling the void which had seemed all-encompassing with Hiryuu’s death. 

He’d thought nothing would ever rival the death of his red star, burning so brightly that it chased away all his fears—but Kaya’s mortality was a near second.

Gathering up everything which burned within him, he turned, looking up to face Kaya, his blue eyes mirroring the depths of her own onyx. “Kaya, don’t call yourself in the third person anymore,” he said, and clasped her hands in his own. In the meager light offered by the moon, filtering in through the straw roof and the illuminating the new curtains, the night painted her skin a ghostly porcelain. “I’ll call your name as many times as I can.”

Hiryuu’s pendant lay heavy against his bare chest, the cold searing into his skin. It always seemed to carry a frigid cold of its own—jade, perhaps. A stone of protection, or divine presence. Instinctively, his left hand went to the stone, his right clasped tight—too tight, likely—around Kaya’s hand. The greatest irony: that it had been given to the dragon who’d find the least use from its protection.

He’s lost the left, and soon he would lose the right. And that was very much something that he wouldn’t be able to burden Kaya with; his immortality was his own burden to bear. 

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to call your name, Zeno,” she said, voice choked.

He didn’t know how to respond; instead, leaning forwards, he claimed her lips in a kiss. Trying his best to chase away the creeping shadows. He would never cease to marvel at how somebody so very simple and so very plain could shine brighter than any gemstone could. A moon was apt, really.  

“As long as I can keep on calling yours, then it’s quite alright.”

\---

> _“Kaya! Don’t leave—!”_

\---

It was his birthday, again. Zeno stood up, gently laying his wife’s hand on the pallet. The weather had eaten away at the shack, and it was all but falling apart around him. Brittle, the roof had fallen on her chest, and he cleared it away from the bone. 

He’d kept his vigil for a year, as promised, and when his spoke, his voice was rusty from disuse. “Happy Birthday, Zeno,” he said to himself. He would use the speaking patterns she’d entrusted him with, childish though it may be. Who was there to judge a wandering waif?

It was a new day, after all.

The autumn meant the trees were once again filled with the chestnuts Kaya loved so very much, and the crisp leaves, brittle underfoot, were a suitable dirge for his moon. There was nothing left in the hut but dried bones and tattered cloth; Zeno carried what was left in that one corner of his heart. He couldn't fulfill his promise to her, and she would likely wait in the stars for him, forever more. 

Zeno hadn't deserved her, but she'd loved him, and he, her, and that was enough to justify his tremendous selfishness.

Behind him, the shack flickered, flames dancing like the red-gold of autumn leaves, bringing its contents up to the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Very belated Zeno birthday fic. Mm. Thank you for reading! This is my first fic in this fandom, and likely the only one I'll write for Yona. Now I shall abscond back to Owari no Seraph and muddle in my trashy vampire series.


End file.
